Wood Scripts From Dark Wood:
....as a creative writer of the words of woods, i am often enamored by any copy of my species, who would stop and sit awhile, to so share in the bliss of what has been written.
Can I tell a story from the hearth of the forest, while the embers of the charcoaled goods are still steaming forth with frosted screeching, as rustic wood spirits sit around the galactic stones, warming their hands to the anticipation of another fire breathed chronicle, fresh off the tongue of an ancient one such as I?
Back then, before the days of yore, when time was still young and the maestros of golden knights rode out daily in search of fair virgin maidens to rescue from the jaws of gleaming teething dragons, there was a place in the forest of dark woods, where many feared to go. For it was rumored throughout the land that herein lived one called the ‘old timer’, and yes it was also stated that to the few or many, (whichever you choose to believe) who dared to walk this way or loose their way in the dark woods, none returned, since who was keeping records. It so can be understood, as also saying that the few who did stumble out….came out with what the locals called a case of ‘the strange’. I’m sure that now days we would call them crazy and insane, (although to be politically correct I guess I should just say….) that these who came back, came with the ‘gift of insight as being blessed with the ability to think differently then all those other’s around them’. Today we just shuffle these harmless souls under the carpet of back room no-name places, but the fact remains that in my story, these who had caught ‘the strange’ where often left alone or if the times needed a guilty soul to burn at a roasting fire….well you get my drift.
We all loose our way in many different directions at times, but to loose your way in the forest and then find yourself in the heart of the dark woods was what happened to me one day, while out gathering some branch wood to make some benches in my wood shop not far from the town of Gluesenberg. Being a company man and part of the old school where I was taught my trade by word of mouth and paying my dues as an apprentice, before being sent forth to pass on the laws of furniture making as a craftsman of sorts. This one does when they have finally arrived at being the master, and so I had opened a small shop where daily I could be found crafting wood into shapes that resembled all those other’s who had come before me. My day had started out as usual, with my early morning rituals of gathering my thoughts alone within me, and jotting down some notes of inspiration that had come my way. Next I sat the old fire box in order, while gathering some heat from within that massive belly that I called ‘beast’ and then letting some water start to boil for my ever present cup of tea, I took down the broadax I kept above the door. Even now I still feel the silkiness of the well worn and oiled oak handle….oiled I say yes, but this was the oil that comes from sweat mixed with blood off the gnarled hands of calloused fingers. Just as gathering my thoughts was important in my need to feed my spirit, so also I now gathered my broadax to the grinding wheel and played forth a fine tuned symphony of culling forth a fine tuned edge.
Today was to be a day of gathering assorted pieces of wood out in the forest near the backside of my land, where over past that last brook, that usually ran till middle of summer, there remained the boundaries of what many of the locals referred to as the dark forest. Not being from Gluesenberg, I was a city boy who had grown up in the big city, where I had been schooled and also learned my trade, before coming here to set up shop and make my fortune and fame. This should come as no surprise when I say, that what these locals whispered about while always looking over their shoulder as if to see who was watching, only filled me amazement at the thought of their superstitious ways. However after being here for many years now, I still cast a backwards glance while out working at gathering wood in the area of the dark woods and was myself often found to be much for making haste in clearing out of this area as evening light waned before my eyes. And yet even lately there was a calling or urging deep within my breast that seemed to draw me more and more towards that area of what lies within. I admit, that I had only recently started going within, just a smatter of distance, but also being careful to not loose the sight of that outside boundary where light separated the darkness.
Why on my last trip in, there was the unusual finding of many different species of wood that were not common to the area, which I had made into slabs for table tops….and what of those pieces of branch wood I had found therein also, which became legs for some benches and chairs I had been working on. It was as if I heard voices talking to me in my workshop, telling me stories and ways of working wood that I had never been taught to know….and then there was the money that I had started getting from selling these pieces of what I was starting to call ‘wood art’. Why just a week ago a stranger had walked into my shop and mentioned seeing some of my work and then asking to know if I would be interested in taking on a commission for a line they were developing, which could also involve some of my interpretations of traditional furniture.
Yes, so much to do today and I had better get started soon as I slowly started to pull the reins of my imagination in and…..”now who could that be knocking on my door there”, since I had not even yet hung my open for business sign in the window of my shop for the day….
....to be continued....in time….
....and so it was in my looking, that I aspired to become lost within the beauty of all that forest that some called the Black Forest of dark woods….
....the wood spoke my name and so i answered that yes, here am i, and so i learned an-other way of working wood, which was passed on to me by an 'old timer' having no-thing to give but the life of wood....
-- --frank, NH, http://rusticwoodart.tumblr.com/